


creating a radio (played just for two)

by betakids



Series: college au! [1]
Category: Hotel Artemis (2018)
Genre: 80s Goldblum, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bickering, Fluff and Humor, Grinding, House Party, Idiots in Love, M/M, Modern Era, Mutual Thirst, Texting, so ooc but at least i had fun, there was gonna b banging but u only get the foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-17 00:44:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14822001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betakids/pseuds/betakids
Summary: "Pardon me," This Guy says- or, no-murmurs,placing a gentle hand on Pulco's waist to move him out of the way. Pulco's inhale catches in his throat. He can see the mass of curls that's falling into this guys eyes. He smells like nicotine and weed and pretzels and fucking Old Spice and something else that's addictive. His voice is tangibly bored butlilting,"If you wouldn't mind."Cool,thinks Acapulco,I want to see if I can blow you for so long my mustache falls off from friction.





	creating a radio (played just for two)

**Author's Note:**

> you know i have about 50 unfinished hotel artemis wips and the only one to break through to the finish line was the incredibly indulgent college nonsense like.... movie isnt out yet and here i am six aus deep
> 
> title is from two headed boy by nmh because lets be real! college niagara listens to them

It’s all perfectly reasonable when it starts, at least.

 

Acapulco can’t be- he _won’t_ be blamed for his actions. Or his thoughts. Or anything else, for that matter.

 

Macroeconomics is actually kind of bullshit, and he didn’t go to about the first three weeks worth of classes just because he knew somewhere in his heart of hearts that Waikiki would definitely be enough of a weenie to record the lectures and airdrop them to him.

 

He guessed wrong, by the way. Waikiki basically left him out to fucking dry on the curb, which, first of all- _rude._ Second of all, in the grand scheme of things, it turned out for the best. Because this blatant betrayal of his friendship led to him dragging his soggy ass to class for the first time and that was what kicked everything off.

 

It’s a simple problem. There’s a guy.

 

There’s a guy who’s about six foot _fucking_ four, who sits in the back with one of his legs thrown over the seats in front of him and sweatpants that are hanging just a little too low to be fucking _legal._ When Pulco keeps taking bathroom breaks, it’s one hundred percent not just an excuse to walk past this dude and try and check out what brand of briefs he’s wearing. They’re Calvin Kleins, in case anyone was wondering. He has these deep eye bags and a look on his face that’s always equal parts unimpressed and deadpan and irritated and _imperious_ and that look might be the sole reason Pulco even goes to class anymore. It’s kind of pointless because he doesn’t register a single important thing while he’s busy tracing the line of This Guy’s throat with his eyes and imagining what it would _taste_ like.

 

This Guy brushes him once, in the aisle when he’s trying to squeeze past, as Pulco is leaning over a few seats to shout at Nice about why female lacrosse isn’t a real sport. Acapulco can feel every single inch of their height difference and can feel the actual _heat_ of this _dude_ as he moves. He’s wearing a threadbare lifeguarding instructor shirt that Pulco definitely saw in the lost and found that morning.

 

“Pardon me, baby,” This Guy says- or, no- _murmurs,_ placing a gentle hand on Pulco’s waist to move him out of the way. Pulco’s inhale catches in his throat. He can see the mass of curls that’s falling into this guys eyes. He smells like nicotine and weed and pretzels and fucking Old Spice and something else that’s _addictive._ His voice is tangibly bored but _lilting,_ “If you wouldn’t mind.”

 

 _Cool,_ thinks Acapulco, _I want to see if I can blow you for so long my mustache falls off from friction._

 

-

 

“I think about him all the time. It’s like a goddamn disease,” Pulco mumbles into his hands. “Swear to fuckin’ god, I feel like a plague victim.”

 

Waikiki glances up from the book he’s reading. The book he’s pretending to read. The book he’s convinced himself that he’s reading. He’s leaning back in his chair with a book open in his lab and his twitter feed open on his shitty iPhone 4, propped up on it. “I wish I ever knew what you were talking about. Imagine how much we’d get along.”

 

Pulco chooses to just groan as a response, sinking even lower in his chair. “Is this ebola? Is this what everyone was complaining about when ebola was a whole big thing? Was that 2015? 2016?”

 

“Yeah, dude.” Waikiki turns a page, “That’s what everyone was _complaining_ about. Not a life-threatening disease, just really bad thirst for a guy whose name they didn’t even _know._ Wait- Was ebola life threatening? I don’t remember much about- man, why are we even talking about this? I’m _reading._ ”

 

Pulco snaps up, and Waikiki visibly snorts at how his hair bounces when he does. He presses his foot against the leg of the library table to push his chair onto its back two legs, crossing his arms and ignoring the way the new position makes the fabric of his jeans scratch at the bug bite on the back of his left leg. His jeans are way too tight and he’s been wearing them around the quad each time he knows That Guy is out there but he’s been way too stubborn to acknowledge how pathetic the maneuver is.

 

“You’re not fucking reading.” Says Pulco.

“Uh,” Kiki holds up his book, “Right here.”

“ _Yeah,_ ” says Pulco, “you’re _telling yourself_ you’re reading cause you have a book open, but you’ve been on Twitter for the last like, twenty minutes. You haven’t opened your highlighters, they’re just sitting by your elbow and reminding me what a sad fuckin’ person you are.”

 

Waikiki snaps his book shut and it makes Pulco jump in his seat, almost sending him careening backward as his foot breaks contact with the library table. He windmills his arms for a couple seconds to regain balance and tries not to look at Kiki’s steadily rising eyebrows.

 

“You’re an asshole.” Waikiki says. “I wasn’t telling you That Guy From Econ’s name to be nice and like, spare you, but you’re changing my mind, day by day.”

 

“You know his fucking _NAME?_ ” This time he almost falls over again, but for legitimate reason. “And you didn’t _TELL ME?_ ”

 

“It’s Niagara.” Waikiki says. “He’s a senior. He’s the worst. Wait, actually, if you’re the worst, then I guess he’s second place like, comparatively.”

 

“Tell me _everything._ In _explicit_ detail. I’ll literally pay you. I’ll literally do the laundry. I’ll-”

Waikiki gives a small, petulant sigh. “I’m pretty sure Niagara is _actually_ Satan. He’s like this weird, edgy, facsimile of an 80’s bad boy in a leather jacket who-”

 

“He’s so tall, and handsome as hell.” Pulco says, “He’s so bad but he does it so well.”

 

“Yeah, man, I didn’t really want to tell you this shit since he doesn’t seem even remotely functional. Honolulu had to pull him out of the trash by his belt loops because he fell asleep _dumpster diving_ for a blister pack of Xanax. I’ve never seen him smile but I heard it’s supposed to be pretty scary when he does. Someone threw a dart right at his palm and when it hit he didn’t even flinch.” Kiki has completely neglected his studying by this point, propping one foot up on his opposite knee and idly scrolling through what looks like the Buzzfeed Unsolved tag on Instagram on his phone while he talks. He seems like he’s pretending to ignore the steadily growing crush Pulco has on this _Niagara._ “He told me he wants to ‘top Cole Sprouse to establish dominance’ and he keeps on smoking like, cigarettes. It’s kinda nasty. I mean, you’re from the city so it’s probably normal for you but I’m from a small town, dude, I never knew it smelled that _gross._ ”

 

“Is he gay, though?”

 

“He’s a _film major._ ”

 

“A big yes would have sufficed.”

 

-

 

Pulco squeezes his red solo cup idly, and feels the plastic crinkle under his finger tips. He can tolerate house parties, especially when he has a goal he’s so single mindedly focused on as this. He’s leaning in the connecting doorway between Nice and Kiki’s room, perfectly aware of how he’s taken up all the space and preventing anyone from getting through. He had heard through the grapevine (read: Nice letting actual information slip while she was berating him) that Niagara was going to be there that night so he’s like, scoping out the place with his spank bank goggles on. Checking out the peen scene.

 

“I can’t believe you wore those fucking _shorts._ ” Waikiki pops right up behind him like a fucking whack-a-mole and Pulco finches forward so hard he dislodges himself from the door frame. Waikiki keeps speaking in one breathy rush, right into his ear. “I was _joking,_ dude, what’s _wrong_ with you?”

 

The shorts in question are little red track shorts from like, Under Armor or Nike or Adidas or some other brand Pulco forgets. There are three white stripes up the side. They are, coincidentally, the shorts with the “Are You Nasty?” sign that Kiki had pinned across the butt way back in freshman year. Pulco took the sign off that night but he had seriously debated about it since it would have been like, an interesting talking point at the very least. As it stands, he’s shifting back and forth and wondering if maybe he is coming across as more desperate than cute, especially considering the fact that his ambiguous grey sweatshirt is absolutely engulfing his pants and he keeps on having to hike up the hem and it’s just-

 

“Well, clearly I didn’t fucking _know_ you were _JOKING,_ Kiki!” He says, and tries to keep his voice from pitching too high on the tail end of his screech.

 

Waikiki grabs onto the hems of his shorts and gives them a solid yank down until they’re about mid thigh in an attempt to make them decent and Pulco _yelps._

 

“Don’t-” he hisses, yanking his pants back up to a reasonable length, “ _Whyareyouwhippingmydickout-_ STOP!”

 

Waikiki shoves a hand into his hair and ruffles it up, effectively destroying the meticulous styling- with hairspray- Acapulco had spent thirty minutes on before leaving. “He’s _walking over here,_ his legs are _reallyfuckinglong_ you have like _threeseconds hewalkssuperfast-_ OH HEY NIAGARA!”

 

Niagara appears as Pulco has both hands in his hair, desperately trying to piece it back into whatever windswept look he was going for in the first place. And Niagara looks the same as he always does, which is to say tall and confusing and with this little _freckle_ right under his mouth that Pulco never noticed before but now just wants to kiss. His hoodie is open to expose a shirt that looks like Waikiki’s Star Trek shirt that went missing, but worn inside out with the screenprint invisible save for a faint impression. His sleeves are pushed up unevenly, high up on his left forearm and hanging down on his right hand. He has an expensive-looking watch on his left wrist that confuses Pulco, because he remembers somewhere in the back of his mind that the man has never been on time to any event in his life. Except this party. Maybe he’s wearing the watch for the party?

 

“So-o-o,” says Kiki, gesturing vaguely at the two of them, “This is Acapulco. This is Niagara. Say hi!”

 

Pulco is suddenly caught between all his options. He makes a motion that’s equal parts a wave, a handshake, and a hug, while some voice in his head tells him to just spin around and bend over. And- wait, oh shit, Niagara has _eyelashes_ that fan out against his cheekbones that he didn’t notice until he’s this close. He almost hates the dim lighting, he wants to examine this guys bone structure for hours and commit every feature to fucking memory. The shadows emphasize the dark parts on his face just like how the red string lighting is making him glow.

 

“Oh!”  There’s an interesting cut to his jawline he can see when Niagara tilts his head down and slightly to the side to fix him with a look that’s inquisitive and interested. Niagara spares a moment to lean forward a little to get closer to him, and when Pulco instinctively shuffles backward to compensate for it his shorts ride up a stray inch on his thigh. He _catches_ the way Niagara’s eyes flick down for just a second.

 

The guy _smiles,_ then, and it’s not scary at all. He has no idea what Waikiki was even fucking going on about, if this is the case- He looks like a puppy. An actual, oversized, sweetheart of a puppy. The smile is too big for his face, offensively bright, almost _goofy-_ and he has dimples. His eyes crinkle. “I know you! Macroeconomics, correct? Stop me if I’m ah, mistaken.”

 

Pulco’s mouth is dry.

 

“YEAH-” He stops, clears his throat, to cover up for the fact that he started the sentence off on a yell, “ _Yeah_ , man. Econ is bullshit, am I right? Am I? _Right_ , I mean.”

 

“Jesus christ.” Kiki says, reaching out and taking Pulco’s drink out of his fingers while he’s preoccupied, the dick. He takes a sip and grimaces at the flavor in Pulco’s peripheral vision.

 

“It is bullshit! Very perceptive of you!” Niagara chirps. He’s still managing to lean closer, backing Pulco up through the doorway into Nice’s dorm, “You should blow me!”

 

Acapulco blinks once, and then twice. He reaches out and grabs Niagara by the front of the shirt with little preamble in lieu of responding, just starts walking to the bathroom with this weird, hot, lanky mess in tow. It’s endearing, the way Niagara trips over his shoes to follow and chuckles under his breath at the enthusiasm. But Pulco can’t even be bothered to be embarrassed, he’s ducking past the bodies already starting to dance and scanning the place for the bathroom or like, a bedroom, even a fucking kitchen _closet-_ If the bathrooms already occupied he’s going to punch whoever’s pissing directly in the face- he _will not_ be stopped. Niagara’s chest is warm through the fabric.

 

Waikiki shifts from foot to foot, watching them retreat. He briefly contemplates telling Nice what he’s done.

 

“I fucked up.” He says to nobody in particular.

 

-

 

Acapulco slams Niagara’s back against the shut bathroom door so hard he can hear the wood creak and the small exhale Niagara makes from impact. He essentially throws himself at him, for all intents and purposes.

 

He has both hands bunched up in the front of his shirt, fully on his tiptoes to compensate for the height difference- and the worst part is that it’s not _enough._ Niagara is slowly sliding down the door as Pulco leans up toward him, splaying a hand- a startlingly gentle hand- against the small of his back to steady him. Pulco kisses every square inch of skin that he can reach. He’s even surprising himself a little, with the ferocity that he’s attacking his poor partner with.

 

He doesn’t land on Niagara’s jawline like he was aiming, instead sort of mashing his face up against the guys throat. Pulco licks a stripe up the side of it and then moves to press a kiss to Niagara’s adam’s apple and then _suck_ on it, briefly, feeling the movement as he swallows hard and breathes shakily.

 

“Oh- _Oh_ , I’m flattered, sugar, I’m really-“ Niagara’s next words get cut off by a strangled sort of choking sound as Pulco pauses from the determined sucking he’d been doing at the junction between his neck and his shoulder, to nip at the skin and then _blow_ where the saliva is cooling. “I- No marks, that’s-”

 

“Yes, marks.” Pulco mumbles into Niagara’s skin. He twists the fabric of his shirt in his fists, dragging him further down and even more off balance toward him so he can finally, blessedly, pepper his jawline with small kisses. He lands one on the corner of his mouth. On his lips for a peck. Right behind his ear. Niagara makes another breathy sort of laugh that’s verging on a moan. The hand that’s holding Pulco right up against his chest goes vaguely slack when Pulco bites at his bottom lip.

 

Niagara’s really pretty. He has such- such _soft_ features, and these big, wet eyes- it’s entrancing. Niagara’s eyelids flutter open and Pulco can’t remember when he closed them, but he brings his other hand up from where it had been propping him up against the door to insert itself into Pulco’s hair. He tugs to separate Pulco’s lips from his neck.

 

Niagara looks him in the eye. He looks- flustered. Ruffled. “No, no, it’s- _I’m_ going to be making the marks, you’re-”

 

Pulco has his totally hilarious rebuttal replaced by an embarrassing squeak when Niagara flips them around, and it’s _just_ hot enough being spun around like a sack of flour that he can forgive him for shutting him up. He throws his legs around Niagara’s waist and bucks forward with his hips to find that- _hell yes-_ he’s hard. Medium hard. Whatever. He reaches around to try and pull his ass forward to grind together.

 

“Can you- get your hand off my ass.” Niagara says.

 

“Buddy,” says Pulco, and he dodges Niagara’s move toward his mouth to continue talking, “I’ve been staring at your ass for like, a whole _semester_ , I’ll touch it as much as-“

 

And then Niagara _sucks_ at his _tongue._ He licks over the back of his teeth, the roof of his mouth. Pulco’s head is held in place by the hand in his hair as he feels his mouth fucking explored by Niagara, and his vision almost goes fuzzy. This is what he had been building toward all semester. Niagara’s lips are really soft. He tastes _fizzy_. Pulco goes limp in Niagara’s grip immediately after he tugs on his hair.  Pliable.

 

Niagara makes a noise into his mouth and thrusts forward, grinding the lines of their dicks together through the layers of fabric between them. Acapulco is suddenly _very_ grateful for his clothing choices and for the breathability of flimsy athletic gear. He breathes out a quick moan as- oh, right there- Niagara moves again, harder, and the combination of his mouth and his tongue and his hips and his hands and the _heat_ suddenly become all too much, all at once. The bass of the music outside is pounding against the door like the heart in Pulco’s chest, like the vibrations of Niagara’s moans against him. Niagara slots a leg between both of Pulco’s and _pulls_ him down onto it with the hand on his ass and Pulco sees fucking _stars._

 

“Oh my- Jesus _fucking-_ “ Pulco makes a small gasping sound, and thunks his head back against the door to allow for Niagara to nose up against his face and lick at the spot where his jawline ends. “Y- Please. Get your dick out, please, please, I just-“

 

Niagara is visibly smug and trying to fight his smile, but it twitches at the corners of his lips anyway. “You look like shit.”

 

“A- Are you fucking negging me?” Pulco pulls back again, trying to hit him on the forehead with the heel of his palm, but instead sort of threading his fingers into the guy’s curls and pushing them back from his face. “Okay. Okay, you _always_ look like shit. You _literally_ have a like, a mystery food stain on this hoodie right now and I’m _still_ trying to- to get your cum on my face, so it’s like, looking like shit isn’t a turn off, actually. Apparently.”

 

Niagara opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, closes it, opens it again, and then closes it in favor of wrenching Pulco’s head even further back and tracing up his throat with the pad of his thumb. Pulco shivers at the feel of his hand wrapped gently around his neck, as Niagara squints down at him.

 

“Why, pray tell,” Niagara says, “are you so weird?”

 

“This is so not hot!” Pulco say, “Super not hot! I’m flagging! My dick is going soft! I’m going-”

 

Niagara gives a slow, hard pull to his hair that bends his head back and gives Pulco’s cock one and then two strokes right through the fabric at the same time he bites down on Pulco’s lower lip gently and _tugs_. His back arches off the wall and his moan cracks right down the middle.

 

Niagara laugh is an uncomfortable snuffle into Acapulco’s neck that tickles. “It’s really cute, though. You being the worst. Like Waikiki said.”

 

“He called me the- Oh that son of a BITCH!”

 

-

 

_Mon, May 12, 10:41 AM_

 

(10: 41 am) _Pulco?_

 

(12:20 pm) _Pulco_

 

(3:30 pm) _Acapulco please respond. I want a response within the next ten minutes_

(3:30 pm) _Are you safe?_

 

(5:16 pm) _ACAPULCO_

 

_Tues, May 13, 12:01 PM_

 

(12:01 pm) _DID YOU DIE?_

 

(2:02 pm) _If you’re not dead I’m going to kill you_

 

_Wed, May 14, 9:02 AM_

 

(9:02 pm) _Pulco_

 

(9:03 pm) **_lol u totaly love me_ **

 

_(Waikiki has blocked this number.)_

 

(9:04 pm) **_nooo_ **

 

_Thurs, May 15, 3:21 PM_

 

(3:21 pm) **_did it literally take u a full day to recover_ **

 

(3:21 pm) _You’re gonna put me in an early grave. You’re killing me._

(3:21 pm) _You’re killing your best friend._

 

(3:22 pm) **_relax ur acting like viagras gonna fucking kill me or whatever we just hung out and like banged a lot and played breath of the wild_ **

 

(3:22 pm) _FOR FOUR DAYS?_

 

(3:22 pm) **_oh shit its been four days haha_ **

(3:22 pm) **_i was at his place i guess i lost track of time or whatevrr_**

(3:23 pm) **_hes a really cool dude_ **

 

(3:24 pm) _For. Four whole days_

 

(3:24 pm) **_and i beat zelda fully_ **

(3:24 pm) **_and he’s hung_ **

(3:24 pm) **_and he drove me to get mcdonalds last night when i got sad and he spat his fry into my mouth_ **

 

(3:25 pm) _You have to realize that’s gross_

(3:25 pm) _But also kind of cute. I guess. If thats what you’re looking for_

 

(3:25 pm) **_i know it is_ **

(3:25 pm) **_hes super hung man_ **

 

(3:25 pm) _Bye_

 

(3:26 pm) **_no wait dont_ **

 

_(Waikiki has blocked this number.)_

(3:26 pm) _**_goddamnit_**_

(3:26 pm) **** _ ** _**_COWARD_**_**_

 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on twitter @weedsbian if you want to have a good time! or on tumblr @driftcompvtible but i truly never use it 
> 
> please message me about. this fucking movie
> 
> niapulco.tumblr.com is also me but that’s strictly hotel artemis so i use it even less


End file.
